


For Now and Evermore

by perksofbeingaiko



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perksofbeingaiko/pseuds/perksofbeingaiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek spend their 50th wedding anniversary musing about their lives together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Now and Evermore

If you asked Stiles when he was 16 years old where he would be in 60 years, he probably would have said dead. That it would have been a miracle if he made it to 18 alive and well. Never in a million years would he have told you that he would be stumbling around his living room, walking blind, with a familiar pair of hands covering his eyes, leading him to the dining room.

But here he was, age 73 (and still kicking! 70 was the new 50, and he refused to let anyone tell him otherwise), easing his way around the living room he had grown accustomed to for the past 20 years, Derek’s still-strong arms guiding him.

“Would you just tell me what the hell is going on?” Stiles pestered for the hundredth time since they left their daughter’s home. “You’ve been acting coy all day, and it’s starting to bug me. You know I hate surprises.”

Stiles felt a kiss be pressed to the top of his head. “You love surprises. Now shush.” With that, they came to a halt, and Stiles immediately whipped his hands out to feel around his surroundings. Derek huffed, muttering about impatience, before taking his hands off of Stiles’ eyes. The lights were dimmed and a dinner for two was set on the table. Now, usually, the two men ate dinners for two every night, but this was different.

Stiles scanned his eyes over the table, to the decorations hung from the ceiling and on the walls, to the flowers set in a vase on the cabinet top. Memories flooded Stiles’ mind and he leaned back into his husband’s embrace.

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles sighed, looping Derek’s arms around him and holding his hands to his heart. His grasp was loose, shaky in a way that comes with age, but still he held on. “It’s-“

“It’s our lives together. From our first date…well, first _real_ date that is. Those are the flowers that you gave to me even though I was the one to pick you up.”

The memory shone bright in Stiles' mind. He had been nervous as hell after receiving the call from Derek when he got back into town. They had agreed when Stiles had turned 18 that, if they still wanted each other after Stiles had moved out to Colorado and finished college, they would try. He was 23 before he came back to Beacon Hills, and waited weeks with bated breath for some sort of contact from Derek. He had made the first move by coming back, after all. It was Derek's turn.

Finally, after almost two months of nothing, he received a call at 2 AM. _Typical Derek_. They had agreed on a date the following evening, and Stiles promptly ran around like a chicken with its head cut off for the rest of the day, trying on every outfit he had, showering twice, and making a mad dash to the flower shop down the street. He was a man possessed, and didn't truly understand the awkwardness of the situation until he showed up to his own house with Derek waiting on the porch.

The men had just stared at each other, drinking in the others new appearance, before Stiles shoved the flowers toward Derek. A confused “Err, thanks?” and an awkward laugh from Stiles later, they headed to Derek's car.

It seemed like eons ago to Stiles. Now, he could barely remember a time when he was that awkward with Derek. Then again, he could barely remember what he had for breakfast that morning, a fact that didn't change from young-adulthood into his now elderly years.

“The food,” Derek continued, breaking Stiles from his thoughts, “is the first meal you and I ever made together as a couple. When we both didn’t know how hard a lasagna could be, so we settled on instant macaroni and cheese.” Stiles scowled to himself at the remembrance of the cheesy burnt _disaster_ they had tried to make. “The table cloth is the same one you and Lydia spent hours hunting for, for our wedding reception. But, my favorite is the center piece. I had to dig around the attic for hours before I could find them.” Derek leaned over to pick one up off of the table. “They're the ones Sophie and Aiden made for us when they were in elementary school. Remember? When they were competing between one another to see who we loved more?”

“God, Sophie’s is a glittery mess. And I’m pretty sure Aiden’s looks more like a squished apple than a heart,” Stiles said, moving from Derek’s arms to pick up the table ornaments their children made for them years ago. That week had been hell between the kids. Sophie was convinced that, because she was the oldest, daddies _had_ to love her more. She was their pride and joy. Aiden, on the other hand, countered that he was the baby of the family. Parents always loved the baby the most. It took a lot of family cuddles and the glow of Derek’s red eyes to calm them down once Sophie lunged at Aiden, fangs and claws out. Aiden was human, so it was all he could do to leap toward Derek to save him.

Derek rubbed his hand on the small of Stiles’ back, pressing a kiss to his temple before moving to pull out a chair. Stiles smirked, and eased his way into the offered seat. His knees didn’t cooperate like they used to, and the pull against his muscles ached. Derek laid his hand over the muscles and took away the pain before giving Stiles a smile and sitting in his own seat. Stiles took a moment to look at his husband, the person he knew better than himself. Werewolves, Stiles learned, didn’t age the same way as typical humans. Sure, internally, things were basically the same. It wasn’t like Derek would live to be 150 or anything, but he didn’t wrinkle. His hair was still salt and pepper, while Stiles’ was thin and wispy, and more importantly, completely white. But Derek had laugh lines, his body wasn’t as defined, and his beard didn’t quite grow the way it had before. And he was beautiful. Stiles knew, after 50 years of marriage and almost 60 years together, he would always look at Derek and love him just as much as he did when he was 16 years old and terrified for his life.

Derek leaned over to hold Stiles’ hand, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ pulse like he did every other time before. “So, 50 years.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. You know, I’m starting to feel gypped as anniversaries pass,” Stiles complained.

“Oh?” Derek inquired, a smile tugging at his lips.

“The symbols keep getting increasingly more boring. I mean, the 50th is _gold_. Who the hell wants gold anymore? What am I going to do with gold? I’m 73 years old. The best I could do would be to get gold encrusted dentures for Heaven’s sake!”

Derek rested his other arm on the table, leaning his cheek into his fist as Stiles continued to ramble.

“I mean, you’re great and all. But I see you every single day. I already know I love you, and I know you love me. Anniversaries are where the gift giving is at! I think that the longer you’ve been together, the more interesting the gifts should be. Like, ooh! Our 24th anniversary! Now _that_ was fun. Instruments are fun and interesting and actual _gifts_.”

“That was the worst one. I think you and Aiden forget that the little band you two tried to start was amplified ten times to me and Sophie. We almost rented a hotel room for the month,” Derek practically whined, shuddering at the memory.

“You two were just jealous that Aiden and I could have hit it big time. My drumming and his guitar skills would have practically made us rich. We would’ve been like the Brady Bunch, just with much less members. I’m convinced that you could have played bass and Sophie could have sung. We missed out on one hell of an opportunity just because you and Sophie have your little ‘werewolf problem.’”

“Anything was better than the leather year, though. What was that one? 10 years?”

“Nine!” Stiles said excitedly. “Oh no, that was my favorite. You looked completely horrified all day.”

“You replaced all my jeans with leather pants and only left me with those creepy leather vests old perverts wear when they are trying to be sexy.”

“Exactly, I’m a genius. And your thighs looked fantastic,” Stiles urged.

“I had to pick up Sophie at daycare that day! I had moms ogling me all the way down the block. They probably thought I was some sex offender.”

“Or hoped,” Stiles whispered, earning a glare from across the table. “Okay, so maybe I went a little too far on that one. But at least I didn’t give you the assless chaps I intended on, so I call that fair!”

“Whatever. I will say that the anniversary from a couple years ago was great, though. The poetry one,” Derek smirked and Stiles laughed outright.

“Oh goodness, see that is what an anniversary should be. All of your friends getting together to celebrate your marriage by reciting terribly written original poetry in front of everyone. I feed on other people’s embarrassment. It’s what keeps me going. Especially Scott’s.”

“’Your love for one another is like an oak. It’s strong, sturdy, and stable. To find someone as good for each other as you, you simply wouldn’t be able.’”

“Scott is a poet and we didn’t even know it,” Stiles chuckled, picking up his spoon before digging into the macaroni. Whoever told you that it was meant to be eaten with a fork was tragically misinformed. Derek didn’t agree, picking up his fork to spear through the broccoli on his plate. The pair ate in comfortable silence, breaking it with a few musings about the party that Sophie held for them that day.

She invited all of Stiles and Derek’s friends, which were basically the pack and a few of Derek’s hunting buddies, also werewolves, and Stiles’ book club. He was the token gay man in the group of elderly women, but he loved it. Derek loved to read but Stiles loved to discuss theories and interpret meanings. Plus, he was an old man. Once you get to a certain age, nobody gives a damn about what you say or do. It’s all considered endearing. And at least he wasn’t doing knitting competitions…anymore.

“Aiden is bringing Christian and Sara over this weekend while he and Laurie spend some time together,” Derek mentioned, and Stiles perked up.

“Ooh! Maybe we can invite Aimee over, too. Then all my precious grandbabies will be with us.”

“You’re saying that like we didn’t just see them an hour ago.”

“Now, listen here. We’ve only got a handful of years left and I want to spend them all doting on my little babies. And since Sophie and Aiden won’t let me, claiming they are ‘too old,’ I’ll have to push it onto my little grandbabies instead.”

“Aimee is almost 20 years old, Stiles. They aren’t babies anymore.”

“Oh nonsense, she can’t be older than ten.”

“Just like Aiden is still your little 12 year old boy?” Derek teased.

“Yes. Exactly like that,” Stiles pouted, poking at his last piece of broccoli with unnecessary force. Derek collected their plates and left them in the sink to be washed later, before moving over to the now ancient stereo. Clicking play, he heard Stiles suck in a breath.

“I couldn’t let tonight end without playing [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkkGy80PZqQ),” Derek said before moving back to Stiles, extending a hand out to him. “May I have this dance?”

“I married such a gentleman,” Stiles cooed before taking the offered hand and let himself be raised from the seat to stand with Derek. His bones creaked as he straightened out his back, a few expletives muttered as they did.

_I can only give you love that lasts forever, and a promise to be near each time you call._

“Remember,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear as he pulled him close, one hand on his waist and another grasping his hand, “Before we got married, and we fought about which song would be our First Dance? I still cannot believe you wanted that I Will Always Love You song. It’s embarrassing.” The couple spun in slow circles as the music carried through the small home.

“Whitney was a goddess, and like your choice was any better. A jazz version of All I Ask of You would have put the whole room to sleep.” Derek rolled his eyes, nuzzling at Stiles’ neck as they swayed to the music.

_If you’re wondering what I’m asking in return, dear…_

Stiles sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t cut-a-rug like I used to. My knees aren’t up for the challenge anymore.”

“You were never able to dance. And stop saying cut-a-rug; you’re making us sound older than we are. You old coot,” Derek said with a wink.

“Well, making _myself_ sound older. I’m only 73, still young and spry. You’re nearly 80. That’s practically ancient,” Stiles teased as he leaned back to take another look at Derek. _Even up close, Derek is still the most handsome man I’ll ever see._

The music faded from its last notes, but the two men kept their hold on one another.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek promised, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Ah, yes. I love you, too, Der. Good thing, too. If we have to be stuck getting terrible gifts from now on, we might as well make it to diamond. And I don’t think we could do that if I hated you, now could we?”

“Mmm, it’s always about the gifts, isn’t it?” Derek ran his hand over the soft cotton of Stiles’ sweater, straightening his tie for the third time today.

“Well, it’s not like I can count on sex anymore…” Stiles trailed off before laughing as Derek peppered kisses over his face. “Stop! Stop! You’re like a giant dog! I knew I should have married a human. Werewolves are way too sloppy!” he cried.

Derek planted a firm kiss to his lips before pulling away. “But you married me, anyway.”

Stiles smiled. When you’re young, moments seem to feel like hours. Hours felt like days. But growing up, and doing so with Derek, everything still felt new, like all of the time that passed went in a blink of an eye.

“Yeah. I think I made a pretty good decision with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was also posted on my tumblr, [merstiel](http://merstiel.tumblr.com)
> 
> Inspired by the song That's All - Michael Buble


End file.
